


The Gift of Love

by mysterykai



Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: I mean birthdays, phantom finds the true meaning of christmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:41:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23151112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysterykai/pseuds/mysterykai
Summary: Oh, the Phantom thought. That’s what today is. Today is Masters birthday.______Cute lil' birthday fic I wrote for my friend with two of his fav servants. I had a lot of fun writing this.
Kudos: 14





	The Gift of Love

He knew what was happening. It was… a party. The Phantom knew parties. He had attended quite a few back when he was alive. Well, rather he had crashed quite a few. But that was neither here nor there. He had  _ attended _ plenty of parties, at least enough to recognize the frenzied fervor, the wide eyed panic, the out of control, insane hustle of preparing for one. From the absolute battle he had overheard Emiya and Tamamo fighting in the kitchen at breakfast to having to shrink into the shadows of the hall to avoid being body checked by Fergus, half naked and arms full of glimmering streamers, whatever they were about to be celebrating was something  _ big _ . But what?

One of the many things this reincarnation had gifted the Phantom was knowledge of the current world. However, try as he may he couldn’t pull any knowledge of a holiday from the muddy ether. Winter holidays had long since ended and the first celebration of the Spring Equinox wasn’t until late next week. So what? As much as being kept out of the loop frustrated him, the Phantom hesitated. Every servant he ran into seemed to be wired tight with nerves, running to and fro, with even the saltiest of the bunch sporting smiles. Even the Chaldea support staff was getting in on the action, with a level of cooperation rarely seen between the humans and the fleshy wraiths they worked with. And is so often the case, happy people do not notice shadows, which means that the Phantoms usual method of slithering up to someone with a question on his mind instead of his lips and simply waiting for an answer was not going to work. 

“Erik!” 

In his surprise the Phantom whirled back, one long leg getting caught on the other, and his face would have had a rather intimate encounter with the ground if not for a strong hand grabbing his lapels. As if he weighed nothing, Caesar pulled him up from his awkward lean, giving his now slightly crumpled coat a good couple of smacks that was probably meant to smooth the fabric. 

“Easy now, I know my presence is a lot to behold but you needn’t go weak at the knees.”

Despite the wink and laughter that followed, the Phantom wasn’t sure if that was meant to be a joke. He hoped it was a joke, at least. However, the sympathetic laughter he usually reserved for the saber class servant caught in his throat as an arm wrapped around his shoulder. The Phantom was pulled down into a lean as Cesar went back onto the flats of his feet, the chest that the Phantoms shoulder was now pressed against rumbling with another bout of boisterous laughter. 

“Oh, come, come, no need for such a face! It’s a waste of your looks!” The Phantom cringed. “Besides, today is a day for celebrating! Don’t ruin your time by being dour. Ah, and speaking of celebrations, there is something I require your skillful aid at doing!”

And there it was. The Phantom wasn’t surprised of course, no one ever subjected themselves to his presence unless they wanted something from him, not even Master, but saddled with this new knowledge he felt the weight of early exhaustion weigh down on his shoulders heavier than Caesars marble arm. It was barely even the afternoon and yet the Phantom just wanted to go back to his room, hide under his bed,and either sleep or cry. Maybe both, as was usually the way things went. 

“So as you may assume, considering who I am, I have been given an extremely important role in today's festivities.” Caesar went on, completely unaware of the mental collapse currently going on behind his companions unusually blank stare. “However, in my magnanimity I have decided to share this most prestigious position with you. But mind you, friend, the role of gift wrapper is not quite as simple as it sounds.”

The Phantom blinked before slowly repeating the words, “Gift… wrapper?” 

“Indeed!” Caesar bellowed, releasing his fellow servant before gallantly striding past him. Despite his longer legs, the Phantom found himself having to slightly jog just to keep behind the other man. He should probably ask where they’re going. He should ask. He’s going to ask. Ask. If you ask, he’d probably tell you. Just. Ask. 

Several minutes of silent walking later they arrive outside of one of the storage closets. Caesar grins widely at the Phantom before walking inside, the other following before the door automatically slid shut behind them. The Phantom always felt like the word ‘closet’ was misleading when speaking of the storage rooms in Chaldea. Closet always brought to mind more of a cramped space. Something small that, if you were lucky, you could fit all of your nicest suits and  _ maybe _ three pairs of shoes in. But in Chaldea, these ‘storage closets’ were nearly as big as the bedrooms for the Chaldea servants and staff! However, the Phantom couldn’t focus on this bizarre choice of architectural space distribution due to the fact that the usual items found in these types of rooms had been switched with… other things. Instead of the usual cleaning supplies, or spare mage supplies, or even old rusted computer junk, there were just piles and piles of…  _ things _ . Carefully as he could with fingers made of knives the Phantom picked one of the things up.

It was a hand crocheted bat, not big persay, but large enough so that it’s plush body sat comfortably in his palm. Taped on the soft belly of the doll was a scrap of white paper, with carefully cursived black ink spelling: Carmilla. Carefully setting the bat back down, the Phantom looked to the other things. A neatly folded dress shirt with a similar strip of white paper labeling it ‘Henry Jekyll’. A hand carved analog clock topped some manner of wooden bird and another strip of white paper, this time with the childish scrawl of ‘Mephistopheles’. There were patterned socks, a box of chocolate, a hand drawn picture, leather bound books, and so much more, each with the name of a servant scrawled in white paper and taped to it. These things were scattered everywhere, save for the very center of the room where Caesar had gone to, which only had three things lying on the floor. A bundle of scotch tape, a pair of scissors… and four rolls of ‘Happy Birthday’ wrapping paper.  _ Oh _ , the Phantom thought.  _ That’s what today is. Today is Masters birthday.  _

Caesar sat down next to the wrapping supplies and looked up at the Phantom, patting the empty space next to him expectantly.

“Well don’t just stand there! These gifts need to be wrapped by tonight! I figured with those sharp digits of yours, you’d do best with cutting out this colored paper and I can tape! With the two of us working together it should only take about an hour to finish. Maybe even less!” 

The Phantom sat down numbly. Masters birthday. It’s Masters  _ birthday  _ and he forgot! Oh Christine, his poor Christine, how unloved he must feel to be forsaken on such an important day. Oh what a  _ fool _ he was.

The Phantom placed each gift with care onto the wrapping paper, slicing through the sparkling paper with a bladed finger before sliding it over to the emperor to be wrapped and taped. Somewhere around the shorts that had ‘Enemy of the State’ printed on the rear (no doubt courtesy of that dull behemoth Spartacus) the Phantom finally worked up the voice to ask:

“W… what did you get Master?” 

Halting his movements, Caesar suddenly got a very smug look. 

“A man such as myself always arrives to a party with only the most splendid of gift assortments! The softest silks, the freshest fruits, the sweetest wines-!”

“ _ Christine doesn’t like alcohol _ .” The Phantoms voice strained in alarm.

“Oh calm down,” Caesar replied. “I was doing a bit, I didn’t actually get him alcohol. I got him something to commemorate our shared love: fine dining. 101 Handwritten Roman Recipes sure to both be fun to make and delightful to enjoy. Emiya isn’t the only one handy in the kitchen, after all.” 

Oh, that was a good idea. The Phantom looked back down at the gift in his claws.

“You didn’t get him a gift, did you.” There was no question in Caesar's voice, nor was there judgement. 

“I didn’t remember it was today.” The Phantom admitted. “Singing is the only gift I am able to give to my beloved Christine. Though, on such a special day as this, would that even be appropriate? If not, then I’m truly at a loss… music is all I can provide.”

Caesars palm connected with the Phantoms back so hard he could feel the impact reverberate inside his chest. This was a blessing in disguise though, as he could blame his breathlessness on the hit and not the other servants' next words.

“Nonsense! By the gods, I always knew you were a fool, but I never took you for stupid. Do you really think Master only likes you for your singing talent? Now don’t get me wrong, this is by no means a knock against your ability to carry a tune, but honestly… Do you even know all you contribute? Not even on our missions, but in general? He loves you because of your love!”

“Because… of my love?” The Phantom repeated. That didn’t make sense, of course he loved Christine, shouldn’t that have been taken for granted? 

“Straight on! You absolutely adore him, don’t you know how endearing that can be? He even allows himself to be a child around you, singing and dancing to any and every song he finds even slightly interesting even when he tells the rest of us he’s too embarrassed to do karaoke.”

“My Christine has a lovely voice, of course I’d want to hear a gifted songstress sing!”

“See!” Caesar exclaimed. “That’s exactly what I mean! You’re incredibly endearing, top that with Masters… style sensibilities, it’s only natural he loves you.”

The Phantom felt as though he was drifting through the tide with nothing to boey him. Master loved him because he loved him? Christine loved him, not because he could inspire the true music inside of him, but because he made him feel… comfortable? Because this horrid body that had caused him so much pain… so much grief… so much  _ isolation _ just happened to match up with his beloved Christine's sense of servant aesthetics? That was… a lot to think about. Too much, in fact, as soon the Phantom realized that he had gone quiet and spent the rest of his time wrapping gifts with the emperor in dazed silence. 

Such a daze left him to wandering the halls, once more crowded with servants, though this time they were the ones having to dodge him as they ran to and fro. A gift. He still needed to think of a gift. Not a song, neither his voice nor his organ nor his pen seemed suitable for such a… wait. His pen. Yes, yes his pen would do nicely! The truly best gifts are often the ones right under one's nose, as they say, and as Caesar had said: his Christine loved him due to his love!

The Phantom all but kicked in the door to his room, slamming it shut behind him just as fiercely. Like a man possessed he glided over to his writing desk, brushing off the contents of his most recent attempt at songwriting before grabbing a new piece of parchment and setting it carefully down. He then grabbed his pen and began to write.

He wrote to Christine. He wrote about Christine. He wrote about what Christine meant to him. How he loved him, how he cherished their time together, their contract. He wrote everything he felt. He wrote all the words that swarmed like hornets in his heart, trapped in his chest because this damned mental corruption couldn’t let him say more than five concurrent words in any fucking sensical order. He wrote so that Christine would know that his love could not be contained to just five simple words. 

He set down his pen and when he was sure the ink had dried, folded the three parchment pieces neatly before sliding them into an envelope. With wax and a stamp the envelope was sealed, before he turned it over and wrote:

Your obedient servant,

O.G. 

  
  



End file.
